


the family that you choose

by chaoticsoul, maybe_she_is



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, F/M, M/M, debate team au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-23
Updated: 2018-05-31
Packaged: 2018-06-04 14:08:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6661618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaoticsoul/pseuds/chaoticsoul, https://archiveofourown.org/users/maybe_she_is/pseuds/maybe_she_is
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which the entire gang ends up having to join the debate team at Arkadia High as punishment for their various infractions, and find themselves taking a liking to each other. Slowly, they come to realize they're not alone in this world; that there are people who understand what they're going through. In this story, they find love, friendship and laughter whilst arguing at a podium on topics they hold close to their hearts. In this story, they find family. In this story, there is a light at the end of the tunnel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. prologue

_Beginnings are always the best because there are infinite possibilities and you just don't know how it will end._

It's Saturday morning and the last place any of these people want to be is at school, sitting in the desks of Ms. Griffin's classroom, and that includes Ms. Griffin.

"Good morning, everyone, Clarke and I –please call me Abby outside of school hours, by the way- are so glad you all could make it! If I'm being completely honest, I wasn’t sure that many people would turn up, but here you are!" Abby gestures enthusiastically, a smile plastered on her face. A room of teenagers stare back at her with unimpressed faces. Abby's smile slips off of her face and is replaced with an awkward cough.

Clarke, sitting by herself in the first row of desks, speaks up, "Maybe you should call the roll, Mom," in an attempt to save her mother from embarrassment.

Abby looks at her and nods with a barely there smile. She turns around to her desk and picks up the clipboard holding a list of all the students who joined this club as an alternative to various punishments.

"Octavia Blake?" Abby calls, looking to the back of the classroom- Octavia’s frequent seat of choice.

"Here," Octavia’s harsh voice answers from behind the sheet of dark hair obscuring most of her face, save for her jawline, clenched in irritation

"Nice to see you, Octavia," Abby says as she puts a check by her name, "Monty Green?"

No one spoke up so she called out the name again. Then again, no response.                                             

“He’s there,” Octavia announces sullenly, pointing to an Asian boy asleep in the row before hers, drool leaking out of his mouth and into a puddle on the desk, “Sleeping beauty number 2 is Jasper Jordan.”

Abby nods as she checks the two names off of her list.

"Can someone please wake them up?"

“My pleasure,” grins a  dark skinned boy wearing a beanie, quickly removing the pencil out from the behind his ear and throwing it Jasper.

The gangly kid jolted awake, his goggles falling off the side of his head and hitting Monty on the back, causing him to jump up too.

Everyone laughs, and even Abby has to stifle a chuckle as she thanks the two for deigning to join the rest of them in consciousness.  

Monty picks up Jasper's goggles and throws them at him as payback. In return, Jasper gives him a _'what'_ look, as he tries to wipe the drool off the table and around his mouth.

"Alright, moving on," Abby announces, trying to get the class back on track. The laughter slowly dies down and she continues down the roll.

"Harper McInt-" she starts, but is cut off by a sullen faced blonde.

"Just Harper," the blonde says, as the girl beside her puts a comforting hand on her shoulder.

Abby nods, putting a check next to her name. "Okay,  _Just Harper,_ " she jokes.

 

Clarke's face turns red in second hand embarrassment as the rest of the group laughs. Abby laughs along with them, unaware they are laughing at her, not with her.

"Nathan Miller," Abby pronounces and a hand shoots up from the side of the room.

"That'll be me!" the kid in the beanie says, a smirk plastered on his face.

Abby smiles and marks a check next to his name also. "Great! Zoe Monroe?”

"God, every time,” the girl next to Harper, with intricate braids in her hair, says in irritation, "It’s just Monroe."

"Okay,  _Just-_ " Abby begins to joke again, but Clarke cuts her off.

"Mom, no," she warns, giving her a look Abby knows all too well, and thus nods understandingly, looking back at her clipboard.

If Abby knows anything about Clarke, it's that when she says not to do something at school, _don't do it_ , or else she'll be the next laughing stock of the entire student body.

“Raven Reyes?” Abby continues.

“The one and only,” a tan girl with oil stains on her shirt grins.

“John Mbege?” Abby frowns as no one responds, “I suspect he has elected to attend weekly detentions then. Alright then, let’s-“

At that moment the classroom door bursts open and a tall, dark skinned boy runs in.

"I’m so sorry, Abby, there was so much traffic on the way here and I slept late because my alarm clock didn't go off and I couldn't find something to wear and I didn't know if I needed to bring anything, so I just brought all of my school stuff, but it took me awhile to find it all and when I did I couldn't fit it all in my bag so I had to find a bigger bag and I-"

"It's okay, Wells! Take a breath!" Abby interrupts, saving the group from his babbling session.

Wells takes her advice and inhales deeply as sweat runs down his face.

"You're fine. Just take a seat,” Abby motions to the desk beside Clarke.

Wells drops his bag that resembles a suitcase by its sheer size onto the ground with a loud thud.

"God, dude, did you bring all your schoolwork since kindergarten?" Miller jokes and the rest of the room laughs, sans Raven.

"C'mon, Miller. How many times do I have to tell you; you can't burn people?  Stop trying," she advises her fellow junior, and Miller glares at her.

"Coming from the girl who's in here because she  _literally_  burned Mr. Sinclair," he snaps back defensively.

Raven quickly turns from her relaxed position in her chair to face him on the other side of the classroom, "Hey! I told him to stand back! It's not my fault he can't listen to simple instruction!"

“I suppose it’s also not your fault that you rendered one of the chem labs unusable for the rest of the year?” Miller snarks, but realizes he’s gone too far when Raven gets to her feet and begins advancing towards him.

“Reyes, sit down or I’ll call campus security,” Abby threatens uselessly; it’s common knowledge the regular campus security doesn’t work on weekends.

As the Raven vs Miller snark battle escalates, and Abby runs out of the room – likely in hopes of finding someone equipped to deal with the situation- Clarke turns to face Wells. The expression on her face makes Wells want to crawl under the desk for protection.

"Wells, what the hell are you doing here?" she asks angrily, “This club is for what my mother politely refers to as delinquents!”

"I came for you!" he defends.

"What?" her face crinkles in confusion.

"You kept on talking about how you were going to join your mom’s club, but not really wanting to. You did it because of how your mom's feeling after losing your dad. You kept saying how bad it was going to be, so I thought if I, your best friend, joined too wouldn't be so bad," he explains, “So I talked to Abby and she thought it would be a great idea if I joined too, something about setting a good example for the rest of them.”

Clarke's expression softens and she smiles, "Thank you, Wells, but you shouldn't have. You have so much on your plate right now, you shouldn't be wasting your time in a stupid debate club.”

"What else are friends for?" he questions, smirking.

“I’m going to hug you later,” Clarke grins back at him, “But not here. I’ve got a reputation to maintain.”

"I'm going to take your stupid beanie and shove it down your throat, Miller!" Raven screams, breaking Wells and Clarke out of their little friendship bubble.

"You’ll have to get through them first," Miller says smugly, nodding at Harper, Monroe and Jasper, who stood in front of him.

 Raven's eyes widen in anger and she uses that new found energy to push the trio out the way. Jasper falls to the floor with a hard smack, and indignantly insists that he wasn’t defending Miller, but was just getting up to go to the bathroom.

Harper and Monroe fall across Octavia’s desk, and the dark haired girl glares at them until they move away.

“Right,” Wells murmurs to Clarke, “I’ll deal with this.”

Wells jumps up from his seat and grabs Raven around the waist, walking her towards the door.

Thrashing and yelling, Raven demands to be let go, but Wells ignores her and carries her out of the classroom with, surprisingly little difficulty.

“I did tell Mom this would be a bad idea,” Clarke states as her mother returns and Raven’s shouts fade away down the corridor.

The teenagers all look to a frazzled Ms Griffin, waiting on her reaction.

At first, she looks bewildered, but then straightens and smiles.

“Welcome to debate club,” Abby declares.

 

_Maybe this club was going to be somewhat interesting._

 


	2. she can make it go boom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raven and Miller make amends, the group gets their first topic, and Jacapo Sinclair is unhappy with his lack of hair.

_That’s a cool ass hand,_ is always Raven’s first thought when she sees Emori Gardener. She thinks it’s kind of like a lobster claw, and told Emori so the first time they met at the beginning of the school year, much to Emori’s amusement.

However awesome Emori’s hand was, a case could be made that it was the reason for Raven’s accidental burning of Mr. Sinclair; due to Emori’s ‘deformity’, Sinclair thought it best Raven handled all the chemicals for labs (Raven was very offended on Emori’s behalf over this).

"Have you seen Mr. Sinclair?" Emori asks curiously.

Raven shakes her head. "Not since the accident. How is he looking?"

"Bald,” Emori giggle, and Raven joins her in laughter.

"Gardner, Reyes!" Mr. Sinclair shouts as he enters the room, "Is something amusing to you?"

The class looks at him and burst out laughing. The man’s eyebrows, eyelashes and a large patch of hair- gone.

"Stop laughing, Reyes, you did this to me!" he accuses, “I’d sue if I could afford a lawyer and I was confident you wouldn’t blackmail the jury!”

"I told everyone to step back, everybody did except you!" Raven defends herself, between chuckles, "You know, as a teacher you'd think you'd have learnt how to follow instructions."

"I put clear instructions on the board, and you didn't pay any attention to them! What were you thinking?" he yells.

Raven looks at Emori.

 

**-FOUR DAYS EARLIER**

 

 "On your table you have three chemicals, nitrogen dioxide, bleach, ammonia and then water. All are labelled, and I beg of you, please pay attention to the labels. The steps to this lab are written on the board," Mr Sinclair pointed to the white board, where there were steps colour coded based on the importance of each one, "Please, please, pay close attention to the order, it's vital to this lab and if you mess something up serious consequences may happen. Understand?"

The entire class nods, and Jacapo Sinclair sighed with relief, "Good. By the end of this lab you should have produced a purple liquid. Your grade will be based on how close, or how far, your result color is from purple. However, since the steps are on the board, I sincerely hope you will all receive A's. You may begin."

Raven and Emori slipped on their protective goggles, masks and gloves, and Emori read the first step aloud, "Mix the bleach and water in the beaker."

Raven groaned, "This lab is so boring. Who cares about liquids being purple, I could get a purple soda from the vending machine right now- I want to do something fun!"

"So what do you propose we do?" Emori questioned, open to ideas.

Raven looked at her with a mischievous gleam in her eyes and a smirk playing on her lips.

"Well, there's a little chemical rule out there that goes a little something like, if you mix nitrogen dioxide and water together," she said, pouring both into the beaker, "You get nitric acid. And if you mix ammonia and bleach, you get hydrazine."

 She tipped the bleach into the ammonia test tube and held it up for Emori to see.

Emori looked at her, intrigued, following Raven's every move as she brought the test tube up alongside the beaker.

"And if you mix both,  _they go boom_."

Raven emptied the contents of the tube into the beaker, and both she and Emori braced themselves, just as Mr. Sinclair walked over.

"How's it going over here, girls?" he asked, completely oblivious.

"Oh, no, Mr. Sinclair-" Emori began to warn him, but the liquids in the beaker started to bubble and Raven grabbed Emori's arm to pull her away.

 "Everybody get down!" Raven screamed, dragging Emori away from the table.

Everyone ducked under their desks and covered their ears with their hands.

A giant  _bang!_  sounded and smoke engulfed the room.

Slowly, the student emerged from their hiding places and looked around.

"Holy shit," Emori breathed with a light cough.

The smoke cleared slightly, and an angry, mostly hairless Mr. Sinclair was revealed. All Raven could do was stare, wide eyed.

Sinclair looked at Raven, and pointed accusingly, clearly at a loss for words.

"Principal’s office?" she guessed, with a sigh.

 

**-PRESENTLY**

 

"I just wanted to have fun, Mr. Sinclair," Raven tries to defend herself, "And I would have, if you just learned to step back!"

"My classroom is completely ruined, Reyes! I have to use this old lab for the rest of the year because of you!" Mr. Sinclair exclaims angrily, looking at Raven exasperatedly.

"And I'm stuck in debate club because of you!" Raven snaps back, as Emori looks at her sympathetically ( _not pity, not pity_ Raven chants in her mind).

"No, you're stuck in debate club because of your own foolish decisions!" Sinclair states, and Raven, with a sinking heart, knows he is right.

The reason Raven was in this predicament at all was because she wanted to _do something_ , disregard the rules, make something- everything- go _boom_. But Raven would never admit that to anyone. So, blaming Mr. Sinclair was her cover story, and she almost believed it herself.

"Whatever, Sinclair," Raven shakes her head in annoyance, not feeling like arguing further. Lately, that seemed to be the only thing in her life; arguing and fighting- she grew tired of it. 

"That's Mr. Sinclair to you," he corrects before walking to his desk and beginning the class.

For what feels like the first time in her life, Raven stays silent.

 

▲ ▼ ▲ ▼ ▲ ▼

 

The rest of the day goes by quite slowly for Raven. She’s not surprised, the days are always slow in Finn’s absence; time dragging on and on. The only semi-exciting part of her day was after school when Nathan Miller decided to make an appearance at her locker.

She’s just shoved her Algebra II book in her already crowded locker when she shuts it; turning to see him standing there.

She lets out a high pitched squeak, gaining stares from some people passing by, but they quickly looked away, and continued on.

“Fuck, Miller, you about gave me a heart attack!” Raven accuses breathlessly.

Miller sheepishly apologizes for scaring her, his hands in his pockets.

"Don't worry about it," she says, adjusting her bag on her shoulder, "So, what's up?"

"I just wanted to apologise again for Saturday," Miller looks at her regretfully, “I’m dealing with some stuff at the moment and I’m a lot easier to antagonise than I’d like to be, so I’m sorry.”

Raven shakes her head, "Don't be, I started it. I should be the one apologizing."

A silence follows, and it doesn’t go unnoticed that Raven didn’t actually apologise. She looks around awkwardly, but still doesn’t say the words.

"Well,” Miller begins slightly uncomfortably, “We're going to be in this club together for the rest of the year unless we want to go back to detention, so we're going to have to get along. Let’s say we forget about Saturday; today is our new start. Deal?"

Miller holds out his hand expectantly, and Raven stares at it with a small smile on her lips.

“Deal,” Raven decides, and shakes his hand, “Now let's get to debate club.”

“Ah yes,” Miller says with a roll of his eyes, “ _Debate Club_.”

The duo walk to Abby's classroom, only to find everyone else waiting for them.

The room seems to hold its breath at the sight of Raven and Miller together, clearly waiting for another episode to occur.

“Don’t get worked up,” Raven assures everyone, “We’ve kissed and made up, only not literally.”

“I didn’t metaphorically kiss you either,” Miller points out, and Raven winks at him, before sliding into a seat on the left side of the room, two rows behind Wells and Clarke.

Abby clears her throat and the attention returns to her, albeit reluctantly.

“Right, I’ll keep this brief today, I’m sure you all have homework you need to get to-,” Abby frowns when Jasper snorts, but continues, “The first round we’ll be participating in is a practice round against Polaris High, and we’ve been told of the topic a week in advance, which will not always be the case in the scored rounds. Sometimes you will have one hour of preparation to get a case together, and that may seem daunting now, but I believe you can get there with time. Now-”

At the back of the room, Octavia raises her hand, and Abby stops talking in surprise.

“Miss Blake, did you have a question?” Abby raises an eyebrow, hoping desperately Octavia was merely stretching, or if she really did have something to say, it would not cause another incident.

“Yeah, uh, does the debate take place during school hours or does it come out of our time?” Octavia grunts from behind her screen of hair, her facial expression unreadable.

“Being a school sanctioned activity, and requiring teacher supervision, the debates will always take place during school hours, although our practices will not,” Abby replies gratefully, and Octavia nods in acknowledgment.

“So does that mean we get to skip class?” Harper pipes up, and shares a grin with Monroe.

“Any work you miss will be given to you at the next possible time, but yes, in effect,” Abby frowns, feeling her hold on the group’s attention slipping, as cheers break out.

“What did you mean about practices?” Monty raises his voice to make himself heard.

“Well, Mr Green, within the group we will occasionally hold practice debates in order to determine who should speak in which position and where the strengths, and weaknesses of the team are. This week we will have one; you can think of it as an audition of sorts-,” Abby pauses as several people groan in irritation, “or a team building exercise, which I’ve no doubt you could all benefit from. The debate against Polaris High is next Tuesday, so we’ll hold our practice debate this Thursday, with the same topic.”

“And what is the elusive topic, Abby?” Wells raises his hand as he speaks.

“I was getting to that, Wells,” Abby answers with a smile at her daughter’s friend, “The topic this round is ‘family is only defined by blood’.”

Several sharp intakes of breath are heard, but Abby doesn’t look up in time to see who they originated from.

“Did she tell you about this?” Wells whispers to Clarke, who responds merely with a shake of her head.

“I’m aware it’s a rather heavy topic,” Abby attempts, “but the aim of this year’s debating contest is to challenge you all to think deeper, and so we will be having less, well, superficial topics than in the past.”

“Alright, Abby, how’s this gonna work?” Raven demands, perhaps more harshly than she meant to.

Abby doesn’t like Raven’s tone, but feels it best not to say so.

“Well, Miss Reyes, this is the only practice round where I will allow you to choose a side. In debates against other schools, you will be assigned the affirmative or negative side, and must argue that side even if you do not personally believe it, and so as practice for that, our debates within the group will be the same. However, as it is the first round and I’d like to ease you in slowly, this time you may pick,” Abby allows, and the group seems to relax slightly, “Each side requires at least four people: A first, second, third, and fourth speaker. The fourth speaker is not required to speak, but to assist in forming rebuttals. I’m going to get a coffee, but when I come back, I’d like you all to have picked a side.”

Abby starts walking for the door, but is stopped by Monroe’s question, “Are we affirmative or negative against Polaris?”

Abby smirks a little, to everyone’s surprise, “I’m not telling you until after our practice debate. Hopefully it’ll ensure both sides put effort in, not only the side we’ll actually be debating on.”

And with that, she leaves them to choose.

“Right,” Clarke begins with a sigh, turning around in her seat in order to face the room, “There are nine of us here, so five on one team, and four on the other-“

“Actually,” Miller interrupts, “I’ll sit this one out. I hear in debating there’s a chairperson, or a timekeeper or something. I’ll do that, and even up the teams.”

Clarke looks surprised, but continues, “Sure, check that with Abby though because she might have something already organised. For now, Miller’s sitting this one out. How about we say affirmative on the right side of the room, negative on the left?”

“Yes, _Mom_ ,” Jasper jokes, high fiving Monty as Clarke gives him a scathing look.

“Just do what she says, Jordan, it’ll be over quicker,” Monroe assuages, as both she and Harper move to the left hand side of the room.

Soon everyone is rising from their seats, and when the game of un-musical chairs is finished, the seating is as follows:

On the right, Octavia – sullen with her arms crossed, Wells – awkward with his eyes on his feet rather than on Clarke, Harper – downcast and rigid, and Monroe – uncomfortable.

On the left, Clarke- betrayed and confused, Jasper- bored and yawning, Monty- curious and excited, and Raven- pained, but thoughtful.

“Right,” Clarke takes charge, deliberately avoiding looking at Wells, “Pick your positions and let’s get this thing started.”

 


	3. (tell me) is blood thicker than water pt.i

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The group halfheartedly attempts their practice debate, and you see the same day in the eyes of nine _very_ different people.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this chapter and the next two following are going to be a bit different to our normal structure (although after only two chapters, we don't really have a normal) and we'll be having separate POVs of the same day for each of our delinquents. Hope you enjoy!

**OCTAVIA**

**7:57 AM**

 

“Fuck, Bell, why didn’t you wake me up? Now I’m gonna be late, and maybe risk detention depending on who’s in the office this morning!”

Octavia glares at her brother through the phone – because that’s a thing you can do when you’re a Blake- as she rushes to tie her shoelaces while at the same time attempting to brush her hair.

“I’m sorry, O, I thought your alarm went off at seven!”

“Well, it would, if it hadn’t run out battery last week and I asked you to wake me up on your way out until I can get new batteries!”

There’s silence on the other end of the phone as Bellamy remembers the conversation.

“Fuck,” he curses, “O, I’m sorry, I’ll get you new batteries today. Do you need me to come take you to school?”

“No, Bell, you stay at work, there’s another bus I can take, I’ll see you this afternoon, have a good day!”

Octavia hangs up the phone before she gags at the taste of the lie on her tongue. There’s no other bus. There’s the school bus she can ride for free- although she’s heard talk of that being changed, which would really suck- and then there’s walking, because Octavia Blake is not going to waste her hard earned money on a bus trip when she can walk for free. Even if walking means she’ll be late. Which she will be.

Great.

Spitting the words _bye, mom_ down the drain with her toothpaste, Octavia grabs her bag and runs out the door, begging the universe for a miracle in the form of a muesli bar in her bag for lunch.

(No such luck.)

It's nearing nine when Octavia drags herself though the school gates; drenched in sweat and a light layer of mud on her jeans, courtesy of an unexpected puddle.

She swallows her exhaustion and forces herself to carry on, sprinting (okay it's a jog, sue her, she's tired) down the corridor of the math block.

Distantly, she recognises the blonde figure sitting hunched against the wall- Clarke Griffin, rich, snob, _princess_ \- who moves to stand when she sees Octavia.

“Octavia-“, she starts, but Octavia's having none of it. She's not going to make herself later so she can chat with Clarke Griffin.

  
"Can't talk, Princess!" Octavia calls as she passes the blonde, who looks bewildered, and maybe hurt.

  
As her pounding footsteps carry her away from Clarke, Octavia recalls the strange glistening on the other girl's cheeks; briefly wondering what on earth Clarke Griffin could possibly have to cry about.

Her heart sinks as she reaches the administration office, and she knows any hope of avoiding punishment has just died.

"Miss Blake, late again I presume?"

Octavia scowls at Pike, the schools worst administrator; as prejudiced against her as he was muscly- which was to say, very.

She doesn't dignify his snark with a spoken response, instead opting for a careless shrug that hides just how much she doesn't want to be sent to-

"Go see Deputy Kane," Pike commands, obviously relishing in the situation.

"Go see the teaching license you no longer have," Octavia retorts, but instantly regrets saying; it's _so_ gonna come back to bite her in the ass.

Pike glares, but says only, "Kane. Now. And send your brother my fondest regards."

Mentally flipping the man off, Octavia heads past the nurse's office (from where Monty Green waves weakly) and starts into Deputy Kane's office.

"-just want it so badly to work, Marcus," Abby Griffin confides, before feeling Octavia's stare and whirling around to face her.

"I-uh-sorry, I should've knocked," Octavia near stammers, taken aback by the intensity of the moment she's interrupted.

"Yes," Kane asserts from behind his desk, looking to Abby as if to reassure her, "You should've. But you're here now, Miss Blake, what can I do for you?"

"I should go," Ms Griffin says quietly, getting go her feet, "The kids should be done in the computer room by now- again, please tell Diana how sorry I am about the state they left it in yesterday afternoon."

Kane nods at her, smiling faintly as his eyes follow her out of the room; snapping back to Octavia as Abby's footsteps fade.

"Uh, Pike said I should see you, I'm late again and sir, I swear it's _completely_ unrelated to my skipping school in the past, this was just a simple case of an alarm not going off," Octavia rambles, anxious to avoid punishment- debating was more than enough.

"I'm inclined to believe you, especially considering your disheveled appearance," he begins, and Octavia hides the way her heart soars with a sullen look she's pretty sure is unconvincing.

"But," he continues, his voice low as Octavia's hopes, "Rules are rules, Miss Blake, and you got off lightly before with debating. There have to be consequences, you understand?"

Octavia nods slowly, "detention then?"

Kane murmurs assent, before going on to officially ruin Octavia's morning beyond repair, "You can stay an hour after school on Friday with the miscreants who opted not to attend debate club."

 _Fuck_.

"Sir," she pleads, "Not after school, please. I'll take detention every lunchtime for a week, but please not after school!"

"And why should I cater to your wishes, when you are the one who broke the rules?" Kane asks, and Octavia thinks maybe she can play it off, act like its no big deal, but as soon as she starts to respond, she realises her mistake.

"I work," she tells him, hating the vulnerability in her voice, "I work two jobs, occasionally three. I-I need the afternoons, that's why I took debating instead of after school detentions, before I realised debate club takes time too, but I figure it's educational, surely that's better than writing lines if I have to give up that time anyway, and-"

Kane holds up a hand to stop her, and she glares at the look on his face.

"I don't want your pity, I just-"

"You mistake empathy for pity," he interrupts softly, "I've worked three jobs before. Say no more, Miss Blake. You can serve your detentions in here with me at lunchtimes, do some homework instead of those ridiculous lines."

Octavia is rendered speechless, but Kane makes words unnecessary with a wave of his hand - a clear dismissal- and a promise to see her at lunch.

And she does, and it's....surprisingly alright. They sit in silence, save for when he makes a comment about the lag in the school wifi, and offers her a spring roll from his lunch, which she refuses politely (she hopes).

The rest of the day passes rather uneventfully, and then the bell rings, and Octavia heads for debate club. And maybe- she'd deny it- _maybe_ she smiles.

 

 **MONTY** **  
7:20 AM**

  
"I, Montessori Green, will not allow my use of recreational drugs to affect my grades," Monty repeats his mother's words with a roll of his eyes.

Hannah Green sniffs in dissatisfaction, "That'll do, for now. You'd better go, or you'll miss the bus and be late."

And so, with a heavy sigh at his mother's antics, Monty grabs his school bag (officially drug free after the incident resulting in debate club) and heads out the door.

As usual, he barely makes the bus -interestingly, he's never missed it- and slides into the seat beside Jasper with a faint sheen of sweat on his brow.

"Did you do the English homework, cause I sure didn't and I'm counting on you," Jasper says by way of greeting.

"Of course I did the homework, have you _met_ my parents?" Monty stresses, pulling the homework from his bag and handing it over.

"Thanks man," Jasper sighs with relief, "You know I had that big dinner last night, no time for homework."

"Oh, yes, that big dinner by yourself. How was it? Do tell," Monty jokes, nudging Jasper's shoulder with his own.

"You joke, but it was pretty good," Jasper defends as he copies the homework into his book, "I tried out our _special_ ice cream recipe and it was possibly the greatest experience of my life, you have got to try it, Monty, I swear."

Monty grins in response, "Oh, I plan to. Unfortunately, I'm grounded until I stop doing drugs, or we win a debate. So probably forever."

"That's okay, I'll bring you some after school," Jasper offers with a lopsided grin.

"Nope, won't work. They're now throwing away any food I possess that they didn't buy themselves. It's a hard life, Jas," Monty whines, leaning back against the bus seat.

"Okay, so we just have to win a debate," Jasper thinks aloud, "Yeah, we're fucked, have you _seen_ our team?"

The bus arrives at school shortly before the bell, and the duo sadly separate, sharing only one class: English (something the teacher, poor Mr Alverez, is desperately trying to change).

Monty makes his way to bio; spending the lesson physically dissecting a frog and mentally wondering what the chances of actually winning a debate were. Probably lower than the chances of him giving up drugs, which was to say, low. _Very_ low. The team (not that they could really be called a team) was _completely_ unmotivated; even Clarke didn't seem interested, and she was both Abby's daughter and the captain. The 'team' was smart though, from what he knew of them, and so it seemed to Monty that provided with the right motivation, they stood a chance. The difficulty there was that Monty didn't know them very well, and so he promptly resolves to rectify that.

Lost in this train of thought, Monty slices his hand instead of the frog, prompting blood to spill out at a steady pace.

Raising his hand (yes, that one) and waving at the teacher, Monty asks to be excused, before realising that his vigorous waving had flung blood across his workstation. It seems Mrs Trowler also notices, because her eyes narrow, and she sighs before instructing Monty to go to the nurse's office. 

Grabbing some paper towel to wrap his hand in on his way out, Monty heads in the direction of the nurse's office. He sees Clarke in the math block, but she looks as though she wants to be alone, so he slips around the corner before she can see him.

Jackson in the nurse's office is surprised to see him- Jasper's usually the one who fakes sick to get out of tests, and he says as much.

"Am I faking this?" Monty asks, holding up his bloodied hand, causing Jackson to enter full on doctor mode.

"There's always one kid who misses the frog," Jackson remarks as he cleans the cut, and Monty winces, "Although usually not by this much... Doctor/patient confidentiality, are you high?"

"No!" Monty protests, hissing as Jackson dabs at the wound with disinfectant, "I was just thinking about other stuff and got distracted."

"Okay, had to ask, sorry. Next time focus on the frog, that's what I'm always telling kids. Okay, I'll wrap this up, then I've got to call your mother, she asked me to call whenever you're in here," Jackson details, unravelling a bandage before winding it around Monty's hand.

"Of course she did," Monty groans, "Thanks, Jackson."

"Sure, Green. Now you sit tight, lie on the couch if you're feeling faint, I'll be back shortly."

(Monty does lie on the couch, but it's more because it's comfortable than because he's feeling faint.)

He wonders if maybe his parents would let him invite Jasper for dinner, but decides that would almost certainly be a no; Jasper's been labelled a 'bad influence'. There's not much chance of convincing them Jasper's presence would make the cut on his hand better either.

Monty sighs. He worries about Jasper; maybe more than he should, maybe not enough.

Footsteps stomp down the hall, interrupting his train of thought, and Monty turns to the door to see who it is. Someone's angry, he thinks.

Octavia Blake storms past, and after a quick debate about whether he should, Monty waves. She doesn't wave back, but she makes non-angry eye contact, and Monty considers that a win.

Jackson returns shortly after, informing Monty he's free to return to class.

"Right," Monty responds, getting to his feet, "Bye, Jackson. See you next time Jasper does something silly."

"Should be later today then," Jackson jokes, "Bye, Monty."

Thankfully, the rest of the day passes uneventfully. At lunchtime, Monty tells Jasper about both his motivate-the-debates plan and forgetting-to-focus-on-the-frog debacle, which Jasper thinks is pretty funny. 

After lunch, they have English together, although Mr Alverez has them sit on opposite sides of the classroom, so it's hardly _together_.

Finally, the bell signalling the end of school rings, and the duo head to debate club, resolved to win at least one debate so Monty can be free to get stoned.

 

**JASPER  
4 AM**

  
For the nineteenth day in a row, Jasper James Jordan wakes to an empty house, and for the nineteenth day in a row, it feels like shit.

When he was younger, having the house to himself so often felt like a blessing. Monty was always jealous. Jasper guesses his parents went on one too many business trips ( _always_ extended by at least a fortnight for sightseeing purposes), because one day, he woke to an empty house and cried.

Which is what he does now, for reasons he can't quite explain; and the following fifteen minutes ensure he'll be wearing loose sleeves that day.

His alarm wakes him at exactly one minute past seven, and he forces himself up as Justin Timberlake's dulcet tones in 'sexy back' fade out. He's trying a bacon and spinach omelette this morning, and he's only got nineteen minutes to get dressed, make that omelette, eat it, and run for the bus.

The omelette is great, and he has a burnt tongue and three minutes to spare when he's done.

His remaining three minutes are used to find clean pants, shove all his dirty clothes in the washing machine, dishes in the dishwasher, and shoes on his feet.

Grabbing his bag and a stick of gum (toothbrush on the go), he's out the door and down the road in record time

He's at the bus stop for a minute at most before the bus rounds the corner, and when he slumps into his seat, he finally allows himself to breathe.

Jasper thinks maybe he should keep his alarm at seven-oh-one. It doesn't give him time to wallow like his usual six-thirty alarm does. He kind of likes it.

Monty gets on the bus shortly after, and Jasper wants to say _Monty, I had a rough night and I feel pretty fucking empty, please help me_ , but he doesn't. Instead, he says something about homework. He thinks. He must have, because Monty passes him his English book.

Jasper sometimes feels he has two Jaspers inside of him: one who knows Monty's talking about being grounded, who finds the words to reply, and one who is so far away from the conversation and the bus that he barely even feels when Monty's shoulder nudges against his freshly made scars.

Monty doesn't see that side of Jasper. Jasper doesn't want him to, so it's a relief when Monty doesn't comment on the fact that Jasper has worn long sleeves every day for a year and a half, when he doesn't notice the slump in Jasper's shoulders at the end of the day when he has to go home to a big empty house and a schedule packed with self-loathing. He's especially relieved when Monty trusts the words _I'm fine._

It's not that Monty's stupid, or unobservant. Monty is smart as hell. But Jasper told him once he wears long sleeves because of a skin condition, and he's made a thousand other excuses for all the thousand other signs screaming jasper is not fine. Jasper will never tell Monty. Jasper will never tell anyone.

"Mr Jordan," a voice demands, jolting Jasper from his thoughts and into his ancient history class, Dr Carlisle looking at him expectantly.

"Oh-uh-sorry. Can you repeat the question?" Jasper asks.

Vaguely, he recalls the bus arriving at school, saying goodbye to Monty, arriving in the classroom.

"What can you tell me about ice mummies?" Dr Carlisle questions, with an exasperated expression.

"Well," Jasper begins, thankful for the documentary he'd watched the previous night while waiting for the _special_ ice cream to kick in, "the oldest known ice mummy is otzi the ice man, and he's at least 5000 years old. He was preserved so well they can tell what his last meal was, but they're still debating what killed him."

Dr Carlisle looks presently surprised that he knows anything, and doesn't push him further, which he's grateful for.

After history, he has math with Octavia. He sits three seats to the left of her in the back row, and steals glances at her as often as he can get away with. She doesn't talk in class unless she's called upon, which is rarely, but her lower lip trembles when she thinks something's funny, and her eyebrow quirks when she's confused (Jasper always pretends he doesn't understand either and asks the teacher to explain again, because he knows Octavia won't).

When the bell rings and she gets up to leave- he always waits until she's gone before standing- he watches the way she walks on her toes, and he wonders why she does that. _Maybe_ , he thinks, _she's trying to be taller, appear more intimidating that she really is._ Maybe she's really on edge. Maybe she just likes walking on her toes, even though it's really bad for her feet. He wonders if he should tell her that.

He doesn't.

Maybe though, maybe he'll talk to her more now that they're both in debate club. Although maybe he will, and she won't like him. It's Schrödinger's cat all over again.

Monty, it turns out, missed the frog in bio and spent most of first period in the nurse's office, which Jasper thinks is pretty hilarious, and tells him so. Monty punches him on the shoulder lightly and all Jasper can do is channel Elsa and conceal, don't feel.

"And so I was thinking," Monty begins, and when Jasper opens his mouth, Monty preempts his words, "Yes, I know, my parents would be so proud. Except that they wouldn't because I was thinking of a plan to free me from being grounded so I can do drugs, but yes Jasper, I'm sure they'd be proud I had a thought."

Jasper pouts, but then Monty's words sink in, "You have a plan?"

"It's a two part plan I like to call Motivate, then Debate," Monty grins, "We need to figure out what motivates our teammates, then make them want to win. And then we will win, because we're awesome and I will not accept failure."

Jasper's sceptical, but determined. He's missed hanging out with Monty after school the past few days, and is going to do his best to help his best friend be free. Plus, it helps to have a goal. There's less wallowing when he has something to work towards.

"Oh and you'll like this, Jas," Monty says excitedly, "You'll never guess who made non-angry eye contact with me today."

"Uh, Deputy Kane?"

"No, Octavia! She was going past the nurse's office while I was there and I waved and we totally had a brief connection foreshadowing our future friendship via debating!"

"Or she could totally hate our guts," Jasper points out, "I was thinking about it during math and I've decided it's a Schrödinger's cat situation."

"Pssh," Monty waves Jasper's concerns away with his bandaged hand, "We're totally likeable. She'll love us. They all will. Trust me, by the end of the year we'll be friends with Wells Jaha."

"That might be pushing it," Jasper laughs, but he's hoping its not.

He doesn't remember going to English, but apparently they do, because suddenly the final bell is ringing and Jasper is hesitantly hopeful that maybe with debate club will come new friends; maybe even family- after all, it isn't defined by blood.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Monty's full name is Montessori. Don't question me.


	4. (tell me) is blood thicker than water pt. ii

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The group halfheartedly attempts their practice debate, and you see the same day in the eyes of nine very different people.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> since we're telling the same day in nine different POVs it would've made a very long chapter which i doubt anyone wanted, so the POVs are split between this chapter and the next, the debate club practice will take place at the end of the next chapter :)  
> * trigger warning: a slur is used towards the end of the chapter*

**CLARKE**

**7:30 AM**

 

"How could you not tell me that, Mom?" Clarke asks, betrayal and anger clear in her voice. "I am still your daughter, aren't I?"

Abby rolls her eyes at her daughter's dramatic act, something you would think after eighteen years she would've let go of by now. "I didn't tell you because in debate club you're my student, not my daughter. I treat you just like everyone else. That means you don't find things out until everyone else does."

"Our first debate is against Polaris High, Mom," Clarke states as if Abby didn't already know such a thing. "They rank number one in our entire district at everything," Clarke says, following her mom to the kitchen, much to Abby's annoyance. "Basketball, baseball, soccer, football, volleyball, all of it, number one!" Clarke says, listing them on her fingers dramatically. "How could you think we'd be able to beat them, especially on our first debate. You saw the people on our team, they don't even want to be in the club! They're only doing it to keep themselves out of more trouble. They don't care if we lose or win, they won't try. We'll lose and look like idiots!"

"Maybe so," Abby agrees frustratedly, turning around to face Clarke, clearly having had enough of her complaining. "But there's also a chance we will win, maybe not this time, but you've met them. Yes, they've gotten themselves in some trouble and they seem like they don't care now, but give it time. They have fire within them, I can see it and I know you can too. We just have to give them a reason to use it. I bet you then they'll start to care and put forth some effort."

It was always like Abby to see the best in people and have faith in them. It was one of the many things Clarke admires about her mother, but sometimes she had hope in the wrong people and refused to see it. Clarke, however, always knew a bad seed when she saw one, someone who would only disappoint those who care about them and the entire debate club was filled with those kinds people. All Clarke could do was look at her mother with pity. _Why does she have to be such a fool sometimes_ , Clarke thought to herself as she shook her head at Abby.

"C'mon, let's head to school," Abby says, grabbing her bag off the kitchen table and heading towards the garage door. Clarke sighs and nods, turning to grab her backpack off one of the chairs. She follows her mom to the garage and hops in her mom's car passenger seat. As Abby got in the driver's seat Clarke stared at the black BMW that sat next to her mom's red Honda Civic. Abby notices her staring and decides to fill the silence, "I was thinking about selling it."

Clarke looks at her, surprised. "Really?" she quirks up an eyebrow.

Abby nods with a small smile. "Yeah, I mean, the car is paid off already, and he always kept it in perfect condition. Plus, you have your own car and I have this, I figured why let it sit in the garage and waste away? We could always use some extra cash," she shrugs.

Clarke smiles a real, genuine smile. She nods in agreement. "I like that idea, you should do it."

"Really? I was afraid you'd get angry with me," Abby confesses.

Clarke shakes her head. "No, not at all. All it really does sitting there is remind me of him and make me sad," Clarke reveals, a small frown now planted on her lips. She looked in Abby's eyes and saw how sad that statement made her, so she decided to brighten up the situation by saying, "Plus, with his car gone I can finally park in the garage instead of on the road in front of the house."

Abby laughs an honest, real laugh and it makes Clarke smile. That was all she wanted- for her mom to be happy. "How about we get to school, I still need to put some finishing touches on this powerpoint."

Clarke nods, "Yeah, let's go."

Abby pulls out of the garage and continues down the street that led out of their neighborhood. It only took five minutes to get to school from where Clarke lived so they got there around twenty minutes to eight, which was when school actually started. However, since Abby loved to be early for everything, they always arrived earlier than everyone else. So Clarke usually just sat in Abby's classroom until the school bell rung finishing some assignments or reading. She was sitting at one of the desks in Abby's classroom when her phone buzzed. She takes it out of her bag and looks at the screen to see the name _Wells_ displayed and a very vague text under it.

_Library. Now please._

Anger surges within Clarke for the second time this morning as she reads the words. She shoves her phone back into her bag and says, "Gotta cut our morning time, today. Just got a text from Wells to meet him and I have some very choice words to exchange with that idiot."

Abby stops writing on the whiteboard and turns around towards Clarke. "Is it because of what I'm thinking of?"

Clarke shrugs as she stuffed her books back into her bag, "Probably. Catch you later." She gives her mom a peck on the cheek and sprints out of the room. She fast-walks to the library, thinking of what words would accurately express her feelings. Let's just say, there were a lot of curse words included. She stomps into library and heads straight for the back corner where she knows Wells was waiting for her. Every time they came here together it's where they sat because it became their safe-haven freshman year. The back of the library, where nothing mattered but themselves and each other. Not the gigantic and intimidating upperclassmen. Not their intrusive parents. Not even their judgmental classmates. Just them. She finally reached the back and sees him sitting at the table, nervously turning his phone in his hands.

"You!" Clarke half-yells, angry she couldn't scream as loud as she wanted to here. _It's probably why Wells picked to meet here, he thinks things through like that_ , Clarke thought. Wells looks up at her wide-eyed. He stands up, raising his hands in surrender. "Clarke, listen-"

"How could you do that to me, Wells?" she asks, betrayed. Her eyes began to tear up. Wells looks at her with regret, Clarke never cried, if she was crying now it meant he really hurt her. "I thought we considered each other family, but when the time comes to decide if family isn't just defined by blood you disagree? Have the last seventeen years of our friendship been a lie?"

"Clarke, of course not. You don't understand, I picked that side because-" he stops short, looking like a deer caught in headlights all of a sudden. Clarke looks at him expectantly with crossed arms and a fierce glare. Wells sighs and finishes with, "I picked that side because I just did, okay?"

Clarke scoffs, "You know damn well that's not a good enough answer for me, Wells Jaha. You better give me an explanation."

"I don't have one," he says.

Clarke shakes her head and smiles in disbelief. She closes her eyes in aggravation and a tear slips out. "Wow, so you betray me without a reason?" she asks, quietly.

"I didn't betray you!"

"But you did!" Clarke shouts again, not caring about their surroundings anymore. "That hurt, Wells. Seeing you on the other side of the room and not next to me. You know how much I need you, how much I need my family right now with everything that has happened. But no, you chose to leave me. What great friend you are." The tears began to fall and she tries to wipe them all away but they kept coming. Wells reaches out for her, but she pushes him away fiercely. Wells looks at her with a pained expression and Clarke shakes her head one last time before turning away and walking off, not bothering to hear whatever he has to say. She walks out the doors and into the hallways. Way more people were walking around than before and Clarke did her best to wipe away any of the remaining tears. She grabs her phone to see what time it was- 7:58, almost time for first period. She walks to her first period class alone, something she's never done before. Wells always walks with her because they had the same class, hell, they had the exact same schedule. _Dammit, now I'm going to have to look at his face all day_ , Clarke thought to herself.

She walks in the door as soon as the bell rung and takes her seat at the front of the class. There was an empty seat in front of her that belonged to Wells. He hadn't shown up yet, and honestly, Clarke hoped he didn't show up to any of their classes. He sat next to her in every single one and that would be too awkward for either of them to bear. Clarke pulled out her notebook, that coincidentally was covered in a collage of different pictures of her and Wells, and a pen. She stares at it and it chokes her up for a second before she remembered she was in class and how it would be completely embarrassing to start crying in front of her classmates. She quickly wipes her eyes and flips the notebook so that the front was covered and a new blank sheet of paper took it's place. _So much for family._ The teacher gave them directions to write down the steps to solve a certain equation and Clarke begins writing. She was almost done when the classroom door swung open. _Please, no._

"Any reason why you're thirty minutes late to my class, Mr. Jaha?" the teacher asks in a condescending manner.

"I had to do something, I'm sorry," Wells apologizes. She nods and gestures for him to take a seat. _Oh, God no._ Clarke's stomach turns and she feels it knot up. She keeps her gaze on her notebook, refusing to look up. She sees his blurry figure sit down from her peripheral vision. _Just keep looking down_ , she thinks to herself. However, Clarke's self will completely disappears when it comes to her best friend. She just has to look at him. Her gaze slowly make it's way up. He was looking ahead at first, but it's like he had a super sense when it came to Clarke because as soon as she looked at him his head turned around. Clarke shakes her head vigorously. _No, no, no, no, no, bad idea!_ Tears start to fall and she shoves all of her materials back into her bag and get up.

"I'm sorry, I have to go," she announces before racing out of the room. She hears the teacher calling after her, but doesn't pay the least amount of attention. She also hears Wells call out her name, but she still keeps going.

She gets to the end of the hallway before she begins to sob. She drops her bag and put her back against the lockers as she slides down onto the floor. Fighting with Wells was the worst thing for Clarke, especially now. He's all she had to keep her sane during this crazy time of her life and now he's just not there anymore. Maybe she was just over reacting, but then again, maybe she wasn't. Clarke had a big heart, she expects people to do for her what she would do for them, and Wells knows this. 

She lowers her head in between her knees and continues to cry for who knows how long until she hears loud footsteps coming towards her. She looks up quickly and sees a very frazzled Octavia running down the hallway. She kept sliding her bag on her shoulder because it kept falling off due to her running and it was obvious it was annoying her. Her hair looked like it had barely been brushed, there were very distinct bags under eyes and her entire body just screamed tired. Clarke was worried about her, honestly. She began to stand up as Octavia got closer.

"Octavia, what's-" she begins, but Octavia continued to run.

"Can't talk, Princess!" she yells as she ran past Clarke, not even sparing a glance her way.

Clarke stares after her in bewilderment. She shakes her head and turns around to pick her bag up off the floor. She wipes her eyes and starts towards the library where she would be spending the rest of this period at in peace and quiet, and most importantly, away from Wells.

 

The next period went surprisingly well for Clarke. The reason being is because Wells didn't show up to it. Which at first didn't make sense to Clarke. Sure, they were fighting, but Wells would never miss a class just to avoid her. He cares about his grades too much, but then everything clicked on Clarke's way to lunch (alone), when she saw Principal Jaha in their second period classroom. Their teacher was handing him papers that looked very similar to work she gave that day. Obviously Wells sent his father for his assignments, which is something very well.... Wells. Either way, Clarke appreciated what he was doing. He must have known her seeing him would only cause for another episode and Wells always acknowledged boundaries. Something Clarke also loved him for.

However, her luck ran short when she steps into the very large, and very full cafeteria. It's like they sensed each other's energy because not one second later they lock eyes. Wells was sitting at their usual table. alone. Clarke's heart ached to go sit by him. but her head told her not to. It was too soon, so instead, she cleared her throat, straightened her posture to give off a strong impression and turned the opposite way towards the food line. She could feel his eyes on her back for a minute, maybe two, before that feeling was gone. She took a breath and grabbed a slice of pizza along with a bottle of water. She just wasn't that hungry. Once she reached the register she went to pull some money out of her purse, but the lunch lady grabs her wrist. Clarke looks up confused.

"Clarke Griffin, correct?" she asks, her eyes sparkled with kindness. She was middle aged, her skin was in the beginning process of forming wrinkles and she was as pale as a jar of mayonnaise. She looked like a ghost.

"Yeah, why?" Clarke nods, asking curiously.

The lady shook her head softly. "You don't have to pay."

Any other person would have accepted this without a blink of an eye and ran with their food, but Clarke was anything but anyone else. She was hoping that the pity kindness due to her father's death had gone away. _Clarke Griffin could not stand pity_. She shakes her head. "No, it's fine. I can pay," she says, digging through her bag for her wallet.

"No, someone already has for you," the lady reveals and Clarke looks up with a quirk of her eyebrow.

"What, who?" Clarke asks.

"Principal Jaha's son. After paying for his food he handed me a twenty and told me it was to cover Clarke Griffin's food."

Clarke turns around to look at Wells, but he wasn't sitting at their table anymore. Instead it was a group of freshman. Clarke sighs in defeat. "Okay, fine. Thanks." She takes her tray and walks away. Wells must be really desperate if he's trying to pay for her lunch. Clarke's heart ached to find him, he was probably sitting with his dad in his office or in the library, and forgive him. But if Clarke Griffin is anything it's stubborn, and she felt as if she needed to be mad at him a little longer, just to get her point across. So that's what was going to happen.

But one downside she didn't think about was now she had no one to sit with during lunch either. She couldn't go to her mom's room because she had a class going on. She scans the cafeteria, looking for a familiar face. Thankfully, she lands on one. Nathan Miller was sitting next to the wall at one of the smaller tables. He was alone, so Clarke makes her way towards him. As she approaches she sets her tray on the table, causing him to look up. He looks confused and then amused. He watches her sit down across from him with a smile on his face. "What do I owe this pleasure of dining with Clarke Griffin, Arkadia High's royalty."

Clarke scoffs. "Please, where do you get that notion from?" she asks, taking a bite out of her pizza.

"Everyone," he laughs, rolling his eyes. "Why aren't you sitting with Sir Talk-A-Lot?"

"Reasons," she answers vaguely, taking another bite of her food.

"Ooh, we got a friendship tiff going on?" he asks, sounding like a teenage girl that lives for drama. He even leaned in like she was going to whisper a secret in his ear. However, doing this Clarke looked at his face closer and saw blood leaking from his bottom lip.

"Your lip, it's bleeding." Clarke points to his lip and his hand shoots up to feel. He looks at his fingers and as expected red liquid covered them. "Did you hit your face on something."

Miller shook his head as he stood up, grabbing his stuff. "I have to go." He slung his bag on his shoulder and walked past Clarke towards the door.

"You should go to the nurse's office!" Clarke stands to call out after him.

"Noted!" he yells back.

Clarke sighed for what seemed like the millionth time today. She plopped back on her chair. Alone again. Clarke finished her food before the lunch bell sounded, signaling to go to her next class. The last two classes of the day still included no Wells. They went by slow, considering it. Them together always made time seem to go by faster. Either way, the day ended and Clarke found herself walking towards her mother's room for debate club. A place she knew Wells would be. Her day of avoiding him was over, and she wasn't ready for what was going to happen next. Whatever it was, it wouldn't be good.

 

 

**WELLS**

**5 AM**

 

Wells Jaha was the type of person who couldn't sleep well if there was an unresolved issue or conflict in his life. So it made since that his night consisted of tossing and turning. He hadn't slept more than thirty minutes consecutively all night, so when the clock turned to five he officially gave up. He grabbed his phone from the bedside table and the brightness made him squint until his eyes got used to the light. There were no notifications - which didn't surprise him in the least bit. Clarke was the only person who ever texted him. Clarke was his only friend. 

_Clarke._

His screensaver taunts him. It was a picture from the Fourth of July party the Griffins threw earlier that summer. Before _it_ happened. Clarke and Wells were holding lit sparklers with gigantic smiles on their faces. It was a good day. And all it reminded him of was how today was going to be anything but good. Nothing was ever good when Clarke Griffin was angry at you. All Wells wanted to do was call her and give her his explanation on why he chose that side. He wanted to tell her the truth, but it wouldn't help the situation. It would only make it more complicated. 

He tosses his phone next to him and falls back onto the pillow with a groan. He wasn't scheduled to wake up for another hour and a half, so he figured he'd do something useful with the early start to his day. He got out of bed, pulling on his sweatpants and shuffled downstairs to the kitchen. He turned on the kitchen light and stove and began getting out the ingredients to make pancakes, eggs and bacon - his dad's traditional, but favorite breakfast combo. 

 

As he put the last piece of bacon on a plate, as if on cue, his father came walking down the stairs. He was still in his sleepwear - that consisted of a plaid pajama pants, a plain, white t-shirt and a soft, dark blue robe. He didn't bother covering his mouth as he yawned. Going straight to the fridge, he pulled out a carton of orange juice and began  pouring him a glass.

"What's the occasion?" Jaha questions, taking a sip of his juice. He took a seat at the counter, and surveyed the food on the counter. 

Wells shrugs, turning off the stove. "Just woke up extra early today. Decided I might as well make an actual breakfast. You can only eat one cup of yogurt every morning for so long, right?"

"You got up early?" Jaha backtracks, looking at his son skeptically. "What's on your mind?"

Wells grabs the both of them plates and silverware from the cabinets and set his father's in front of him. "Nothing. What makes you say that."

"For the last four years you have gotten up at the same time every morning. The only time I ever see you outside of your room before six-thirty is when you can't sleep. And the only times you can't sleep is when something is on your mind."

Wells stares at his father in awe. Which only causes him to chuckle. 

"Yeah, your old man pays more attention to you than you think," he smiles, smugly as he scooped a spoonful of eggs onto his plate. 

_Your actions don't show it_ , Wells thinks. 

 "Let me guess," Jaha continues, taking a bite of bacon. "She's mad you chose the negative side in debate club, because you're supposed to be family even though you're not blood."

Wells' forehead crinkles "How did you.."

"Like I said," he begins, "I pay attention." He started to cut his pancakes in small little squares and grabbed the bottle of syrup. He tipped it over, and circled syrup on his pancakes. "Also, Mrs. Griffin tells me everything."

Now _that_ made more sense. 

Wells, finally, reaches for the platter of bacon and puts the remaining two pieces on his plate. "She's right. I gotta find a way to fix it."

"I don't blame you, son."

"Blame me for?" Wells trails off, confused once again.

"I wouldn't want to say the girl I was in love with was family, either."

_Maybe he really did pay attention._

 

It wasn't until the two Jaha men pulled into the school parking lot that Wells realized he would have to see Clarke in all of his classes. It's what pushed him to send the text for her to meet him in the library because sitting next to an angry Clarke, especially when her anger was directed towards you, was a terrifying feeling. And the fact Wells sat in the seat in front of her for three out of the four classes they had together today was even more terrifying. Although he'd like to give her the benefit of the doubt due to their lifelong friendship, he wasn't too certain she _wouldn't_ stab him in the back a pencil before the day was over. 

He pressed send before hopping out of his dad's five year old, black Volkswagen. Slinging his backpack over his shoulder, he walks around the back of the car and begins to walk into the building along with his father. Various faculty members and students stops him on the way inside with what seemed like trivial and self-explanatory questions, however his father always answers them in the most polite and professional manner. There wasn't a day someone didn't halt their stroll to his office, and usually Wells didn't mind, but today he actually had somewhere to be. So he promises his dad he would catch up with him later, and turns away from the middle of a conversation about the need for an option to delete your name off replies to faculty emails. 

He waits for Clarke in the library. It almost felt like he was waiting for a hurricane to come wash him away. And as he heard the library doors being thrown open and an angry looking Clarke stomp up the aisle way towards him, he was certain the strong winds had arrived. As the argument ensued, all Wells wanted to scream was _Clarke, I'm in love with you!_ But he couldn't, and Clarke was hurting because of it. He mentally punches himself when he saw her walk away in tears. And after thirty minutes of debating whether to show up to first period, he instantly regrets deciding to.

After seeing Clarke run out of the classroom in tears, to say Wells Jaha felt guilty was a _complete_ understatement. 

He tries to ease his conscious by paying for Clarke's lunch. However, just seeing her this way - hurt and betrayed - was too much for him. He left before she could even sit down, deciding to spend not only the lunch period, but every other period after that with his father in his office. Jaha was pleased - although, not surprised - to see his son walk through his office doors. Jaha knows along with everyone else that Clarke was difficult to be around when she was upset. So he agrees to go pick up his work and bring it back to his office for him to work on throughout the day.

"You know you gotta make this right somehow," Jaha says, suddenly, from his desk. 

Wells looks up from his plate of food to stare at his father. "How? I can't change sides, and even if I could she knows what side I chose first."

"I don't know. That's something you gotta figure out," Jaha sighs, taking off his glasses and setting them on the desk. "Not that I don't love your company because I do. But you can't spend the rest of the school year in my office hiding from your best friend."

"If we're even still that."

"Of course you are. Clarke loves you, Wells. She's not angry, she's hurting. Only people you love can hurt you."

Wells knew it was true. He didn't doubt Clarke loved him. It was that reason alone he didn't want to face her. Knowing you hurt someone that loves you (and that you love) makes confrontation that more difficult. However, Wells didn't feel like discussing it with him any further so he stands up and exits the room with the excuse of getting a snack from the vending machine, even though he had just eaten. Jaha didn't miss this fact, but let him be with a simple nod of his head as he continued to work. 

Instead of going to the vending machine Wells decided to wander around the halls for a bit, not exactly feeling up to returning to his father's cramped office that was seeming to become more suffocating as the minutes passed. He was lost in his head, aimlessly walking around when his name being called snapped him out of it. 

"Wells!" a female voice calls from behind him. He stops and turns around to see Monroe walking towards him, a big goofy smile on her face. Something that he didn't see often. Maybe that was due to the fact he never paid attention to the junior. "What's Mr. Perfect Attendance Since Kindergarten doing wandering the halls?" she asks, teasingly as she catches up beside him. 

"I'm gonna ignore that borderline insult and answer with a simple: got a lot on my mind," he laughs as they both continued to walk together downstairs.

"Does it have something to do with a certain blonde girl being upset at you?" she questions, eyebrow quirked. 

"How did you know about that?" he asks, taken aback.

"Word travels fast, and the word is as soon as you walked into first period this morning Clarke ran out in tears," she answers. Wells still looks confused, so Monroe continues. "You and Clarke are royalty around here. Everything you guys do, the school knows about. Just like the fact you guys didn't eat lunch together today for the first time since... ever."

"Wow," Wells breathes, genuinely surprised at just how close the school paid attention to the two.

"If you want to take your mind off of it I was on the way outside for a smoke. You're welcome to join if you promise not to tell your dad," she chuckles, nudging him playfully.

"Isn't smoking on school grounds what got you into trouble and into debate club in the first place?" Wells inquires.

"Yeah. Your point?"

He chuckles to himself before shaking his head. "I'm good, Monroe. Thanks. You have fun though. And don't worry, your secrets safe with me."

She claps him on the shoulder, gratefully. "That's my man! Catch you later, W."

Before he can correct her nickname for him she's already walking away towards a side door that isn't being monitored. Once her figure disappears outside he continues his wandering and pondering.

After he made it back to his father's office twenty minutes later, Wells spent the last two periods of the day in his father's office brainstorming some way to get Clarke to forgive him. He came to the conclusion that it needed to be something that didn't require an explanation, which was nearly impossible. Clarke's forgiveness without an explanation came few, far and in-between. But Wells was on a mission to make amends with his best friend. And his perseverance when it came to Clarke was something not to be reckoned with. 

 

**MILLER**

**7:06 AM**

 

Miller had his morning routine scheduled to the T. He woke up at exactly six. He showered, brushed his teeth, got dressed in the outfit he picked out the night before to save time, and made himself breakfast (which was always cereal). By then it was 7:01. It took him exactly nine minutes to eat, and at 7:10 he was out the door and on the way to school. Like previously stated, it was a perfectly executed schedule. One might think it would take years to perfect it like Miller had, but in all honesty it only took him three weeks. This tedious method didn't go into affect until six months earlier that year. April. It was close to the end of his sophomore year, and Miller was so preoccupied with his upperclassmen boy toy and the refreshing smell of spring that he lost track of the time. His father had walked into his room and the found the two boys in a compromising position that not even Miller could make an excuse for.

That's when it all started. The cold shoulder and the degrading remarks. And whenever Miller did have the courage to stand up for himself it only ended in copious amounts of yelling and a broken or busted  _something_. But the arguing and mistreatment became too tiresome, and Miller decided it was best to spend as little time at home as possible. So he got a summer job at a local movie theater, and saved up enough to buy himself a used car. His working after school (and now debate club) was enough to keep him away from the house until around ten at night, long after David Miller had went to bed. His only job was getting out of the house before his father made an appearance. Which is where his morning routine came into play. His father's alarm went off at 7:15, giving Miller five minutes of cushion incase something did go wrong in his schedule (it never did). By the time his father walked downstairs for coffee five minutes later, Miller was long gone. And on his father's off days (which sadly, happened to be on the weekend), Miller either worked or drove around town all day, until he knew his dad had went to bed. 

Miller's determination to spend as little time at home didn't go unnoticed by his father. He immediately picked up on it. And he didn't care. He didn't want to see his bastard of a son just as much as his bastard of a son didn't want to see him. 

They had went from a loving father and son bond to two strangers sharing four walls and a roof.

Which hurt him more than he'd like to admit. _Why can't my father just love and accept me_ , he thought countless times a day. But he mostly pondered it in bed at night before he cried himself to sleep.

Since Miller left his house at 7:10, and being the school was only ten minutes away, he arrives early every day. Thirty minutes early to be exact. Sometimes he treats himself to a coffee or morning pastry when the cereal just didn't do the trick that day, but most days he sat in the parking lot waiting for eight to arrive. Despite him being, well, _Miller_ , he didn't have many friends. He usually floated among whichever guy he was talking to's (shamelessly hooking up with) friends. But seeing as he hadn't talked to a guy since the incident in April, he had nobody's friends to tag along with. So instead he just sat in his car, mindlessly scrolling on social media or finishing the homework he didn't get to the night before. Or sometimes he would just watching the other kids meet up and converse with each other. However, watching other people talk their friends got to him especially hard this morning because when the clock struck eight he didn't move towards the building.

Instead, he cries.

Because it was just now hitting him that he had no one.

He doesn't make it inside until twenty minutes after the first bell. On his way to his Shakespeare elective class he comes across an almost sprinting Harper running the opposite way. The opposite way from the first period class they shared. Although, that wasn't the surprising part. What surprises him the most was that she was wearing a dress. A baby blue sundress with black flats and her hair was in a high, silky, flowing ponytail. The entire sight had Miller second guessing if it was even Harper he saw. The Harper that wore jeans, a t-shirt and gym shoes everyday. The Harper who he saw only wear a blouse once in her entire high school career. 

He decides to put the entire situation in the back of his mind as he continues to class, brushing it off as a figment of his imagination. Thankfully, Mr. Stewart doesn't make him go to the office for his tardiness. He sits in his seat located in the middle of room and gets out his notebook to begin copying notes from the slideshow. Around twenty boring minutes later, his teacher was still lecturing about the Elizabethan Era when Harper finally made an appearance. And if Miller wasn't already feeling crazy he sure as hell was now. Harper walks into the classroom, handing the teacher her excuse note and going to her seat in the middle of the classroom - one seat in front and to the right of Miller. But this time, she wasn't wearing anything close to a baby blue dress or black flats. Instead she was dressed in blue skinny jeans, a pair of black and white Adidas and a black t-shirt that had the words _Killin' It_  in white print. _How trendy of her_ , Miller would think on any other day, but today he was just plain confused. Her straightened hair was flowing around her shoulders now, instead of up in a sleek, ponytail. All Miler could do was stare. 

"I'm actually going crazy," he whispers to himself, looking at the girl reach down into her bag and begin pulling materials out. 

"Huh?" Harper asks, looking up at him from her backpack. 

He coughs in order to regain composure and shakes his head. His hand gestures up front towards the projector, "Listening to this lecture is driving me nuts."

Harper looks at the board and laughs as she nods her head. "I feel you, Miller."

"Harper and Nathan!" the teacher bellows, making the two teenagers snap their heads towards the front. The other students gazes divert towards them. "You're both late, and then have the audacity to talk while I'm talking? Do I need to talk to Principal Jaha about adding detention onto your debate club duties?"

"No, sir," they both say in unison.

"Good," Mr. Steward nods in satisfaction. "Now stop talking and write down these notes."

The both nod as the rest of the class turns back towards the board. He begins to lecture again and Harper can't help but snicker, sneaking a peek back towards Miller who was doing the same thing. 

 

Period two went by uneventful for Miller. He didn't share any more classes with Harper or any members from the debate team that day. During lunch Clarke Griffin unexpectedly sat down with him, and he was secretly thankful. It was nice to have someone to talk to, even if it was for such short amount of time. He would've stayed with her longer if it wasn't for his bleeding lip. _Fuck you_ , was all he was saying to himself with his father in mind as he hurried to the bathroom. He dabbed the cut with a paper towel until the bleeding subsided. He was in the middle of wiping the last of the blood with a damp paper towel when John Murphy busted through the bathroom door. 

"Fucking fuck!" he screams as he kicks one of the stall doors, no doubt leaving a dent. Miller looks at him warily, which caught Murphy's attention. "What the hell are you looking at, Miller?"

"In all honesty. I have no idea," Miller laughs. Murphy steps towards him an attempt to be threatening, but he was only amused. "You have serious anger issues, man."

Miller walks to throw his bloodied paper towels in the garbage, walking away from Murphy. 

"I suggest you shut the hell up before I give you another busted lip!" Murphy threatens, only causing Miller to scoff. 

"I would like to see you try," Miller dares, walking towards the door. He begins to pull it open when Murphy says something that makes his blood run cold.

"You pretend you're big shit, Miller, but all you are is a fag with no friends!"

Miller instantly froze. Tears brimmed, but he blinks them away before turning his back towards a smug looking Murphy. "You're pathetic," was all he says before turning forward and walking out of the bathroom. 

The next two periods went by in a blur. All he could think about was what Murphy said. Not that he hadn't heard the words before. Shit, he'd heard worse from his own father.

_But that didn't mean they hurt any less._

When the time came around to go to debate club, Miller was actually excited. He wanted to see familiar faces. _He wanted to see his potential future friends._ If the universe was kind of enough to give him that.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes, i know miller's dad loves him no matter what in t100 canon universe but i had to make it this way for the plot so pls don't hurt me! also, isn't murphy such a dick??


End file.
